And like many a stronger person before her, the producer buckles . . . and bows. My grandmother steps passed her dismissively. Coming straight for me.
Please, he groaned. Please, I need you.She knew exactly what he was begging for, and she didnt hesitate. Backing herself up until she felt the wall, she went for the waistband of her scrubs, loosening the bow and letting them fall to the floor. Her boots were a tougher sell on the whole get-off-me thing, but she managed to cross that finish line with the one on the left and kicked it across the Treasury. And that was all she needed to get half her bottoms off.
V took care of his own pant-problems, nearly ripping his fly open, and then she was back to hanging off of his neck and he was pulling her legs around his hips—His penetration was so fast and deep she yelled. And then she didnt know what the hell she did—and she didnt care.Vishous was dominating by nature, a force in the world that wasnt to be denied. And he had sex in exactly that way: He pounded her furiously, his body clapping against hers, the structural integrity of the marble wall shed put her back against the only reason they were still standing.
And even that was a maybe instead of a definitely: At the rate he was going, he was liable to fuck her right through the stone and out onto the lawn—and she loved it. She loved the near-violence, the knife-edge of pain, the sense that she had walked into the woods and found a snarling beast and laid herself down so it could take her.He was the out-of-control that she otherwise didnt let into her life. And she had missed this. She had missed him.
As she began to climax, the tears rolled down her face. The awareness that she had let this connection go made her panic—because what if she had lost it forever? What if she had ceased to exist in the middle of that road? Or worse…what if she had just kept going as she had been with work being the most important thing in her life and everything else slowly fading away.
And it was not just her. There were things Vishous had to work on, too. Things he was going to have to change.Back in her rental car, she took her time and obeyed all traffic laws as she drove out of Miss Fortescues neighborhood and got back on the Northway. She was not returning to the West Point house, however.
Her old-fashioned map took her to her next destination—because GPS could be traced on car systems and phones—and she was even less impressed than she had been with her first stop in terms of architectural significance and desirability. This rough, lower-middle-class neighborhood was cut up into lots the size of index cards, the houses sitting upon them single-storied and in poor condition. Most had doors and windows covered by bars and chain-link fences around their yards with the cars inside the barrier.Streeters house was seven in and on the left, and as she pulled up and stopped, she thought that both places she had gone tonight matched their owners: Miss Fortescues was an aspirational poseur, an outsider looking in on the world of great wealth and desperately wishing she could afford that which she sold. Streeter was a tough thug and did what he had to in order to survive.
All things considered, Vitoria would take a hundred of the latter before she crossed the aisle for the former.After she texted him from the burner phone, she waited with little patience. He didnt keep her long.